Curt and Roland: A Teenage Love Story
by gorgeouscurt
Summary: This is a story about Curt Smith and Roland Orzabal, the founding duo of the band Tears for Fears, who met as thirteen-year-olds in their native Bath, England. It's a fictional account of them falling in love with each other at that tender age. Young boys in love - what could go wrong? But more importantly, what could go right?
1. Chapter 1

Roland played the last note of a new song he'd been working on and then turned to Curt, who was standing next to him at the piano. "What do you think? Still kind of rough, but that's basically it."

"I like it." Curt flashed his killer smile. "You're a song-writing genius, Ro." He glanced over his shoulder, scanning their school's music room to ensure they were alone before he bent down and slowly pressed his lips onto Roland's. Closing his eyes while his fourteen-year-old hormones raged pretty much out of control, Curt felt Roland's arm creep behind his neck and pull him closer. If only he could spend the rest of his life in the middle of this kiss . . . "Fuck!" He grabbed Roland when the three o'clock dismissal bell jarred them back into reality and practically yanked him up from the piano bench. "Come on! I gotta show you something!"

Gathering their books off the floor in the corner, they joined the sea of students out in the corridor and made their way to Curt's locker. Roland wanted to reach for Curt's hand as they walked and hold it in his, but he didn't dare. Not where everyone could see. They only touched each other in private. He eyed Curt when they stopped in front of his locker.

"I wrote that song for you, you know. You're the only one who can sing the lyrics. My voice sounds horrible when I sing them."

"Your voice does not sound horrible, Roland." Curt waited until the crowd in the locker area thinned out before he opened his. Then he motioned for Roland to peek inside.

"Oh, my God!" Roland slapped his hand over his mouth. "Where did you . . .?! How . . .?!"

"Shhh!" Curt looked around. "They had like five or six of them in the music room. Now there's one less. No big deal." He hid the contraband under his jacket as they left the campus and headed toward Roland's house, where they hung out in the afternoons to practice their songs.

Roland sighed while they waited to cross the street.

"What?"

"My boyfriend's a juvenile delinquent, that's what!" Roland laughed and bumped Curt's shoulder with his own. "What are we gonna do with a violin? I only play the guitar. And a little piano when I'm composing. Your instrument is your beautiful voice. We don't need a violin."

Curt wrinkled up his nose and scratched at the side of his head. "Well, I didn't think of that.

. . . . .

The phone was ringing while Roland fished in his pockets for his house key. He hurried inside to answer it, Curt following him in and closing the door behind them. Roland clutched the receiver in his hand tighter and tighter as he listened and ignored the fact that his knuckles were turning white.

Curt went into the room Roland shared with his two brothers and dropped his schoolbooks on Roland's bed. He scouted around for a minute, finally placing the violin under some of Roland's clothes in the closet. He knew something bad was going down for their band, The Duckz, just by hearing the one-sided conversation happening in the kitchen.

Roland hung up and cursed under his breath. "That was Rick," he said, finding Curt and slumping down onto his bed beside him. "His dad got transferred and he's moving to London next week."

"Crap. There goes our bass player." Curt leaned into Roland's side, resting his head on his shoulder. "What are The Duckz gonna do now?"

Roland intertwined his fingers with Curt's. "We'll figure it out. We always do, don't we?"

"Hell, yes." Curt squeezed Roland's hand. Hadn't they been figuring things out together for about a year now? They were both thirteen when his friend Paul had knocked on his door with a new guy in tow. 'This is Roland,' Paul simply said when Curt let them in. 'Roland?' Curt repeated, checking out the exotic creature before him. Something about Roland's eyes captivated him right from the start. 'So you can sing then?' Roland said later when the three of them ended up listening to records in Curt's bedroom and Curt couldn't help crooning along to his favorite Blue Oyster Cult song. 'Maybe you could be in my band. I'm looking for a good singer.' Curt grinned at the guy with the pretty eyes his friend had brought over. 'Uh, yeah. I could do that.'

Little did he know how inseparable they would become from that point on, bonding over their love of music and quickly developing a best-friend relationship. About six months in, Roland couldn't take it any longer and tearfully confessed his physical attraction to Curt. Curt was ecstatic. No more stifling his burning desire for Roland. He took Roland's hand right there in the park they were cutting through and led him over by the trees where they could be alone. Barely into their teens, neither had ever been kissed, but self-consciously figuring _that_ out had turned into the best day of their lives.

"What are you thinking about?" Roland wrapped his arms around Curt and hugged him out of his daydream. "I see that sly look on your face."

"The day we met. I thought you were a foreign exchange student or something. You seemed strangely foreign."

"Strange? Me? You were wearing a fucking turban on your head!" Roland started to jab Curt in the ribs with his index fingers, poking him playfully over and over. "You're the strange one!" he teased, wild squeals of laughter pouring from both of them as they tickled each other and roughhoused on his bed.

"Okay! Okay! I'm strange!" Curt held onto Roland when the snickering died out, maneuvering around until he was lying on top of him. The world grew silent when he peered into Roland's eyes. "Strangely in love with you."

Roland pulled Curt's face down with both hands. "You know I love you, too, Curt." The kiss was quiet and soft at first.

It didn't end that way.

Soon groping and pawing Roland's body, Curt's fingers found their way beneath his shirt and caressed his bare skin. He slid his tongue between Roland's lips and swirled it in circles, rutting against his boyfriend because he just couldn't stop. Roland's tongue danced with Curt's while he clung to him desperately, never wanting to let go. Only after Curt's last book fell to the floor with a thud did they gradually pry themselves apart.

Curt lifted his head and chest off of Roland and glanced at his watch. "It's almost five. Your mum's gonna be home."

"Uh-huh." Roland craved the taste of Curt's mouth again, but he knew they had to get up. He smoothed the messy blankets and tucked his shirt back in while Curt looked out the window and willed the symphony in his underwear away. Roland grabbed his guitar off its stand in the corner and the note paper he'd scrawled the new song lyrics on, handing it to Curt.

Curt focused on the first few lines: _ When your intrusion's my illusion . . ._ Christ! Roland was deep! "Hey, Ro?"

Roland struck a chord, hearing in his head exactly where it would fit during the chorus. "Yeah?"

"I can learn to play the bass."

Roland's face lit up. "Yessss! Problem solved!" He sang the first verse as Curt read the lyrics on the paper, hating the sound of his own voice but adoring his creation as soon as Curt took over the vocals. Roland strummed along lightly and closed his eyes, awash in the gorgeous tones flowing so effortlessly from Curt. His mind drifted to earlier that afternoon when he'd played his new song on the piano and Curt said he liked it. His eyes flew open and his hands abandoned the guitar.

Curt stopped singing. "What is it?"

"We kissed at school today. We've never done that before."

Curt bit his bottom lip, drawing in a long breath. "There are so many things we've never done before, Roland." He wiggled his eyebrows up and down at him. "Sooo many things."

"I know." Roland contemplated the rug under his feet and then slowly raised his head. He held Curt's gaze with his own. "I'm just a little, um, scared?"

"Me, too!" Curt exhaled and broke into the cutest smile Roland had ever seen.

Roland repositioned his hands on the guitar, grinning like crazy. "We'll figure it out."

. . . . .

Roland's mum took off her coat and left it on a kitchen chair along with the tote bag she carried to work every day. Sixteen-year-old Carlos was due home from his after-school job any minute, and a quick glance into the living room, where eleven-year-old Julian was sprawled in front of the TV, assured her that he'd survived another afternoon on his own. She kissed his forehead and asked about his day to the strains of beautifully sung harmonies wafting out of the bedroom and filling the house.

Roland. Her unbelievably talented middle son. Always making music with his best friend. She walked down the hall and stood in the doorway for a moment before she waved. "Sounds great, guys."

Curt smiled at her. "Thanks, Mrs. O."

Roland nodded in her direction and opened his mouth wider, producing a note an octave higher than the previous note without taking a breath in between. "Curt, can you hit G sharp when I do that? Let's try it."

His mum turned to go start dinner, just happening to glimpse down at the floor near the foot of Roland's bed. Boys. She had a houseful of adolescent boys. Which was why nothing was ever where it belonged. Something would be terribly wrong if there_ weren't_ schoolbooks scattered all over the floor!

. . . . .

Curt ate at Roland's house that night. He put his plate in the sink afterward and thanked Mrs. O, who told him he was welcome to stay for dinner anytime he'd like. "Okay!" he blurted out, wishing his own mum was half as nice as Roland's.

Roland went outside with him a few minutes later when Curt realized how late it was and said he had to leave. Thank God the light on the side of the house was broken. Roland motioned for Curt to follow him into the darkness. "See you tomorrow." He hung his arms around Curt's neck and kissed him good-bye. "We sounded pretty good today, didn't we?"

Curt linked his fingers together behind Roland's waist. "I keep telling you your voice is perfect."

"Only when it's blended with yours. You know what that means, right?"

"Um . . ." Curt squinted up at the stars, channeling the future. "That we have to keep singing together till we're old and gray?"

Roland laughed at the mental image of himself and Curt as old men. Then he tipped his forehead down and rested it on Curt's. "I was gonna say it means you can never leave me. But I guess you just said the same thing."

Curt's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't even imagine his life without Roland. He turned his face and whispered in his ear. "I'll never leave you, Ro."

. . . . .

Roland was floating on cloud nine when he went back into the house. Curt loved him and that's all that mattered. Well, the endless music in his brain clawing to get out all the time was important, too, but Curt owned his heart. And that was the only thing that truly mattered. He was still smiling at the thought of growing old with him as he opened the fridge and reached for the milk. He unscrewed the cap, brought the slippery glass bottle up to his mouth for a drink, and suddenly he was wearing the milk!

Roland let out a shriek as the bottle sailed through his hands on the way to its splattered fate on the kitchen floor, the cold liquid inside spilling out and drenching the front of his shirt and jeans. He cursed out loud, which he normally didn't do when his mum was around, and stared at the giant mess.

"What happened!?" she yelled, dropping her paperback novel and bolting out of her chair in the living room. One look at her milk-covered son and the disaster at his feet answered her question. "Roland! I've told you a thousand times not to drink out of the milk bottle! Get a glass!"

"I'm so sorry, Mum. It was an accident." He started to unbutton his soggy shirt and take it off. "I'll clean it up."

She looked at him and sighed. "I know it was an accident. I need to do a load of laundry anyway. Get out of those wet clothes and I'll put them in the wash with everything else. And Roland?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll take care of this. Just get cleaned up and do your homework." She didn't need him cutting himself on a shard of glass.

Roland smiled at his mum. A charming smile that reached his eyes even though he was freezing. "Okay. And I really am sorry."

"Just use a glass from now on."

"I will."

. . . . .

A shower later, he was dry and warm again and rummaging through his closet for a tee shirt and a pair of sweat pants. He found them thrown on top of a violin. The violin! He hadn't thought about it since that afternoon, but there it was right at his fingertips. Just waiting to be examined. Just waiting for a little personal attention. Roland held the instrument in his hands and admired its beauty. Learning to play it intrigued him, but . . . no bow. His boyfriend wasn't very good at juvenile delinquency at all.

Roland grabbed Curt's history book off the floor and used it to do his homework because he'd managed to get home without his own. Then he set the alarm for six a.m. in the middle of a gaping yawn, figuring he'd just go to bed early. He only needed Curt's picture under his pillow and he'd be sleeping peacefully, dreaming of him and music.

He went into the bathroom to get his dirty clothes and stopped dead in his tracks. Noooo! Panic started to set in when he remembered he hadn't left them in the bathroom while he showered because he'd given them to his mum to wash. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have forgotten about Curt's picture? Roland rushed out to the kitchen to see if his mum had started the laundry yet, his pulse racing.

Please, universe! Please just let-

"Roland?" His mum was standing near the washing machine, peering down at his most prized possession. "I emptied your pockets before I put your clothes in the wash and found this folded-up picture. It's Curt sleeping."

Fuck! "Yeah, I . . . I, um . . . took it while he was napping on the couch one day." Double fuck!

"Why was it in your pocket?"

He felt nauseous. Was this actually happening? "I just carry it with me 'cause I, uh, I think it's a good picture." He stopped there, omitting the part about it living in his pocket every single day and being tucked under his pillow every night. It never left his side, but she didn't need to know that. FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! "Can I have it back now?"

"It _is _a good picture. Curt's a very nice-looking boy." Still eyeing the image, she fell silent as things began to crystallize in her mind. Roland spending all of his time with Curt. Talking about him nonstop from the day they met. She thought of the looks Roland constantly shot him during dinner and everything seemed to make sense. Handing him the picture, she confronted him face-to-face. "Roland, do you have feelings for Curt?"

He blinked and shook his head. What a nightmare! "Feelings? We're best friends. We're in a band at school together." He hung his head and studied the linoleum, his voice trailing off. "We like making music together . . ."

"You know what I mean. Do you _like_ him? In a special way?"

Roland took a deep breath. He guessed he was doing this. Right here. Right now. "Please don't make me answer that."

"I'll take that as a yes." His mum opened the washer when it stopped spinning and removed a few things. "But don't be disappointed when he doesn't reciprocate your feelings." The shift in her tone was scary.

Roland scrunched up one side of his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Curt. He doesn't emit any gay vibes at all. You may have your little crush on him, but I'm sure he'll just laugh it off." She turned away and threw some shirts in the dryer. "Isn't he fourteen, too? He's probably going to show up with a girlfriend any day now."

The membranes in Roland's nose were stinging. He fought to keep it together, but a lone tear rolled down his cheek. So this is what it felt like to lose a mother. "You're wrong."

"What?"

Roland stood taller and waited for her to look him in the eye. "You're wrong. He loves me."


	2. Chapter 2

Curt's arms shot up and covered his face, the defensive move quick as lightning and thankfully deflecting the blow heading straight for his cheek. He winced and twisted away from his mum's boyfriend. "Leave me alone, Gary! What are you doing?"

"Trying to teach you a lesson, you little punk!" Gary sneered and ran a hand through his greasy hair. He backed Curt up against the door, snarling like a junkyard dog. "What time did you get home last night? Nine o'clock? Your curfew is eight and you know it!"

"I ate dinner at Roland's. The time just got away from me." Curt tried to escape, but Gary's hand flew up to the front of his neck and pressed into his windpipe. Trapped and helpless, he gasped for air.

Gary squeezed harder. "Next time you're late, you won't be so lucky! Go on! Get to school!" He dropped his hand from Curt's neck and turned away from him.

Curt grabbed his backpack, bolting out of the door before his mum's evil boyfriend could change his mind and come at him again. Knowing all too well what the man was capable of, he counted himself lucky this time. No slaps in the face or punches in the gut. He'd managed to not get strangled, so that was a good thing.

He made it to the park he and Roland cut through every morning on their way to school in record time, as if hurrying now would somehow help the next four years pass any faster. Reaching eighteen and leaving home for good had been his main aspiration ever since his mum let Gary move in with them and he started beating him up. Four more years . . . God, it always seemed like such an eternity when he thought about it.

Curt looked up and smiled when he saw Roland walking toward him, a smile that faded the closer Roland came. Roland was not okay. Curt _knew_ him. And this concave, defeated person approaching was not him. He opened his arms and Roland shuffled straight into them. "Hey." Curt pecked his lips. "What's the matter?"

Roland lowered his head onto Curt's chest. "Oh, nothing. Just my life." He sighed, and Curt tightened his arms around him. "It'll never be the same again."

"O-kayyy . . ." Curt waited for more. The key with Roland was always patience. He would spill his guts if you just gave him enough time. But he seemed content to let this one linger unexplained. Curt tried to jump-start him after a few minutes of silence. "Can you be a little more specific?"

"She knows." Roland's forehead rolled back and forth, still digging into Curt's chest. "My mum, she knows."

"Knows what? Look at me, Roland." Curt placed two fingers under his chin and raised it. "Your mum knows what?"

Roland finally made eye contact, the sadness on his face killing Curt. "She knows about us. She found your picture in my pocket and pieced everything together and asked me flat out if I had feelings for you. Can you believe that?! I tried to lie my way out of it, but I just couldn't." Coming up for air, he shook his head, his eyes welling with moisture. "She hates me now. She doesn't want a gay son." Roland fell back into Curt's embrace as the first tear trickled down his face.

Curt stood there, quietly holding his boyfriend. He wasn't often speechless, but his mind was racing in a hundred directions at once. How long would it be until his own mum found out? And Gary?! Christ! He could see his battered face in the mirror as plain as day. But he and Roland loved each other. It was their reality and they couldn't change it. Maybe it was time to stop hiding. "I don't think she could ever hate you," eventually found its way out of his mouth.

"She's disappointed in me. She wouldn't even look at me this morning before I left."

"Ouch." Curt took Roland's face in his hands. "That's gotta hurt." He kissed him tenderly and wiped the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs. "Do you want to go back to being best friends only? To get in your mum's good graces again?"

"Okay, now you're being insane." The corners of Roland's mouth curved upward even as he sniffled. "I'm sharing my trauma with you, and you're being fucking insane." He dragged the back of his hand across his drippy nose.

Curt grinned. The Roland he knew and loved was still in there. He caught a glimpse of the fire returning to his eyes. "Just asking. That's all."

"I love you, Curt Smith. Who needs a mother anyway?"

"Exactly. Come on." Curt reached for Roland's hand as they started out of the park and on to school. "I'm not ashamed to love you, Roland. I don't care who knows it."

"I knew you were gonna say that." Roland unzipped his backpack as they walked, finding Curt's history book and handing it to him. "Your homework's in there, too."

"Homework? I didn't do any homewor-"

"I did it for you. Just did mine twice and tried to make the second one look like your handwriting. We don't need you in deep shit with your mum over bad grades."

"No, we don't. Thanks, Ro." Curt shuddered to himself. If Roland only knew the harm he'd probably saved him from. Gary went ballistic when he brought home bad grades. "Didn't I leave some other books at your house, too?"

"Uh-huh. I think one of them is under my bed."

Curt nodded. His book was under Roland's bed. They may have been a pair of musically gifted individuals, but they were FOURTEEN! "Roland?"

"Yeah?"

"You had a picture of me in your pocket?"

. . . . .

Curt kept diligent track of the time that afternoon at Roland's house. He hated to have to stop just as they were perfecting an intricate rhythm, but he valued his head being attached to his body. He knew from experience that getting home early a few days in a row would be to his advantage, so it was only four-thirty when he told Roland he had to leave. "Fucking Gary," he scoffed. "He's on the warpath again."

"That douche." Roland felt for Curt. Always having to placate a nasty louse who wasn't even his father. "See you tomorrow. I'll try not to have a breakdown first thing in the morning."

They were both laughing when Curt walked out of the bedroom. No hug or kiss good-bye because Roland's brothers were home. The whole 'I love you and I don't care who knows it' thing was barely ten hours old. No need to rush it.

Carlos looked up from his sandwich as Curt headed for the door. "Bye, Curt. You guys sound great together."

"Uh, thanks." Curt couldn't remember Roland's older brother ever talking to him before. "See ya."

Roland was playing a new riff he liked repeatedly when Carlos came into the room a few minutes later. Sharing a bedroom since Roland was born, they'd finally learned to peacefully coexist in the small space after years of squabbling when they were younger. Pretty much ignoring each other seemed to do the trick, which was why Roland didn't much appreciate the interruption when he realized his brother was trying to get his attention.

He stopped playing, rather annoyed. "What?"

"I said that sounds good."

"Okay." Roland looked around for a pencil and a sheet of staff paper.

"Let's talk, Ro. Can you stop working for a bit?" Carlos sat on his bed, waiting for Roland to put his guitar on its stand.

Roland did no such thing. But he did stare at Carlos as if he'd dropped in from outer space. "You want to talk? About what?"

Carlos smiled at him. "Curt seems like a nice guy."

Hell, no. This was not gonna happen. "Look, if you came in here to hassle me, you can forget it."

"I'm not here to hassle you. Honest. I just heard Mum giving you a hard time last night, and I wanted to tell you there's nothing wrong with being ga-"

"Oh, my God!" Roland hurried toward the bedroom door to close it. "Don't say that where Julian can hear you!"

"Relax, okay? I pried Julian away from his cartoons and gave him some money to go get an ice cream at the corner market. It's only us. I'm on your side, Ro."

Roland looked skeptical. But open. He inched away from the door, removing his guitar from around his neck. "You heard Mum's reaction? I think I killed her. She wasn't ready for that."

"No, she wasn't. Only because her generation is conditioned to believe it's wrong. All we can do is hope she gets her head out of her ass one of these days." Carlos laughed along with Roland, proud of himself for successfully breaking the ice with his brother. He was relieved when Roland finally put his guitar away and flopped down on his own bed.

"How long have you known? About Curt and me, I mean."

"I'd had my suspicions for a couple of months. But I knew I was right last night when it was my turn to clean up the kitchen after dinner. You know that dark side of the house?"

"Uh-huh." Roland slowly shook his head. Did he want to hear the rest?

"It's right under the kitchen window. I swear I wasn't spying, but I could see your outlines in the darkness when I reached up to close the curtains."

"Well, that's fucking embarrassing." Roland grabbed his pillow and threw it at Carlos. "I suppose you heard us, too?"

"Your voices were muffled. I didn't hear anything. I'm happy for you, Ro. I meant it when I said Curt's a nice guy. I'm happy you're together."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You're my bro. I'll always want good things for you."

Who knew Carlos could be this cool? Certainly not Roland. He guessed that was because he never spent any time talking to him before. Maybe they should stop ignoring each other. He broke down and smiled at him. "That dark side of the house _is_ pretty convenient, you know?"

"Who do you think unscrewed the light bulb?"

"You're kidding me!" Roland got up and high-fived his genius of a brother. "Good work!"

Carlos didn't want to brag. But, hey, it _was_ good work! "I've made out with a few girls in that spot. Well, two. But still . . ."

The fire in Roland's eyes was definitely back. "I foresee a permanently broken light on the side of this house. At least until Julian grows up and gets to reap the benefits! Carlos, thank you. Thank you for not making me feel like a freak. That means a lot to me."

"Roland, you're perfectly normal. I'll kick anyone's ass who says different." Carlos stopped for a minute and thought. "Except you work too much. Life is about so much more than working."

"Writing songs? That's not work. Not to me, anyway."

"I know. But you can't stay in here with your music all the time. Go out and have some fun. In fact . . . "

Roland could see the wheels turning in Carlos's brain. At this point, he didn't think he could be any more shocked at what would come out of his mouth than he'd been since Carlos walked in their bedroom. Wrong!

" . . . I'm going to an upperclassman's party Friday night. Why don't you come with me?"

Roland tried to process what was happening. Maybe he did work too much! He eyed his brother and hoped he wasn't pushing his luck. "Can Curt come with us?"

"Duh! He works too much, too! Why do you think I even mentioned it to you?"

. . . . .

Roland was on a mission the next afternoon. He told Curt they weren't going to practice at his house because they were going to the music store to buy a bow.

"A bow?" Curt wrinkled up his forehead.

"Yeah, a bow. How else am I going to learn to play that violin in my closet?"

Curt laughed. He should have known Roland would be obsessed with learning to play it. Is that why he took it in the first place? But as soon as they set foot in the music store, their true mission that day became clear.

It was hanging on the back wall, calling Curt's name. He zeroed in on it like a homing pigeon. "Roland, look. This is what I need."

Roland was two steps ahead of him. "You totally need that. Let me do the talking."

Thirty minutes later, two lads spilled out of the Bath Music Store positively giddy. Roland carried the modestly priced bow he'd purchased in one hand and slung the other behind Curt's waist, his blinding smile threatening to split his face in half as they headed home.

Curt draped his arm around Roland's shoulders and giggled like a girl. "You're a pretty good fence, you know that?! God, it felt so good to hold that bass guitar in my hands. Can't believe it'll be mine in three days." He turned his face sideways and looked at Roland. "Why did you tell him three days, though? We could bring the violin in tomorrow and make the swap."

"Come on, Curt. It's gonna take me three days to teach myself how to play it." Roland leaned into Curt and kissed his cheek. Right on the sidewalk. In broad daylight. Not caring who might see or what they might think. "What are you doing Friday night?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Wanna go on a date with me?"

"A date?" Curt's eyebrows arched halfway up into his forehead. "We've never gone on a date before."

"There are sooo many things we've never done before, remember?" Roland laughed like a madman. "Let's start doing 'em, Curt!"

. . . . .

Roland sat on the stairs with his boyfriend, taking in the outrageous party exploding all around him. Deafening tunes blasting through the stereo system's huge speakers. Wild, drunken teenagers dancing, singing, making out everywhere, and drinking some more. The stoners gathered in a circle in the kitchen, passing a joint around. He saw Curt smile at him out of the corner of his eye. "Great party, isn't it?"

"Yup!" Too bad we're scared shitless, frozen on these stairs, he thought.

That's when Carlos tripped up in front of them, a paper cup full of beer in either hand and two Barbie dolls hanging all over him. "You guys look like a couple of choirboys sitting here. You gotta loosen up." He handed a cup to each of them and laughed. "The keg's out back when you want more. You're welcome!"


	3. Chapter 3

Curt studied the paper cup in his hand and then glanced over at Roland, who was contemplating his own cup and sporting the most mischievous grin he'd ever seen. He smiled as they shrugged at each other. Why not? When in Rome . . .

Roland wasn't prepared for the bitter taste, but after an initial dainty sip he downed three big gulps and shook his head. "Not exactly soda, but I could learn to like it!" He laughed out loud when Curt made a funny face and started to drink. "Carlos was right. We do need to work less and start having some fun, Curt."

"Your brother is a wise man," Curt mumbled, swallowing half of his beer in one go. "He knows about us, too, then?"

"Yeah, but it's alright. He understands. He's . . . happy for us."

"Wise man." Curt held his cup up high and clinked it against Roland's when he lifted his. He scooted nearer to him on the step after they drained them dry. "Are we having fun yet?" he asked, engulfing Roland's torso in his arms and sticking his tongue in his mouth.

Roland's hands wove around Curt's neck while he sucked on his tongue. He pulled him closer and closer, practically onto his lap, feeling as if time would surely end because he couldn't get enough of him. He rolled his tongue around Curt's before he poked it farther down his throat, crushing their chests together even harder. Was that a whimper emanating from his boyfriend?

Barely aware of the outside world, the sound of a door opening and footsteps echoing down the staircase registered somewhere in the back of their brains. Still glued together, they sensed the half-drunk, physically sated seventeen-year-olds artfully making their way around them.

"Uh-oh. Looks like someone needs the bedroom we just vacated," the prom queen told her boyfriend, giggling like a . . . well, like a prom queen.

"First door on the right, guys," he tried to be helpful. "The other rooms are _occupied_ as they say." Laughing along with his girlfriend, the football jock hoisted her up in his arms and stumbled back into the party.

Curt separated from Roland ever so slightly and peered into his eyes. On their feet in about five seconds, he held his hand out and waited for Roland to take it. His heart was pounding as he led him up to the second story and through the first door on the right. "This is better? No interruptions?"

"Way better." Roland closed the door behind them and locked it. He turned around to find Curt's hand waiting for him again, this time leading him to the bed. He ripped off his jacket and shirt and dropped them to the floor before he crawled to the center of it and lay on his back.

Curt stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. "You're killing me here, Roland. Fucking killing me." Already feeling a tightness in his jeans, he shinnied out of his own shirt and threw it down. Then he turned off the light and nestled in beside Roland, hardly believing they were alone in this room. Attracted to his body like a moth to a flame, Curt's fingertips were magnetically drawn to Roland's bare chest. He looked at him and smiled when they started to lightly skim back and forth. "God, you're so beautiful, Ro," he whispered, inching them lower and lower until they reached the taut skin on his belly. They lingered there before tracing imaginary figure eights across his navel.

Every nerve ending Roland possessed was on fire. Tingling all over, he turned his face and pressed his lips onto Curt's, wanting this to never end. He closed his eyes while they kissed, forgetting how to breathe when he felt Curt's fingers slowly creeping even lower. First burrowing beneath his jeans. Then into his underwear. He quivered with sensation as Curt reached between his legs.

Curt's fingers closed around Roland's stiffness. "Is . . . is this okay?" he asked, kneading him up and down. "I'll quit if you want me to."

Roland was floating in another place. The kind of place where stopping was not an option. He opened his eyes and found Curt gazing at him. "I might have to kill you if you quit doing that."

Curt grinned. Fuck! He'd dreamed of touching him for so long! He squeezed tighter and jerked him quicker, listening to his jagged, irregular breaths until they ceased altogether and Roland cried out with a sharp gasp. He felt Roland's hips buck upward involuntarily, and a moment later his fingers were slick with his sticky emission. Curt's pulse raced as fast as Roland's when he leaned over and smothered his lips with his own. Unable to focus on much else, he straddled his thigh, grinding himself into his femur as he slid his hand out of his jeans.

Melting a little inside, Roland thought of all the times they'd made out on his bed at home. He'd felt Curt hard on top of him before, but what was happening against his leg right now was no child's play. Curt had morphed into a bundle of urgent need, and Roland desired nothing more than to help him out with that. A sense of urgency burned in his own gut as his hands roamed all over Curt's body, eventually finding their way to his waist. Not asking permission, he quietly opened his belt and unzipped his fly, freeing his throbbing erection.

Curt stopped kissing him and looked in his eyes. "Roland, I-"

"Shhh." Roland sat up and clasped his fist around the base of Curt's shaft. Then he bent forward and took him into his mouth. Not really knowing what he was doing, he figured he was doing it right when he heard the string of obscenities tumbling out of Curt unchecked.

Curt thought he'd died and gone to heaven. He finally lay back and relaxed while Roland licked and sucked him to the brink of relief. Oozing beads of pearly liquid, he moaned a warning of the rest's inevitable escape, yet his boyfriend didn't stop. Lost somewhere in the stratosphere, he heaved his breath in and out as Roland swallowed every last drop he gave him.

His heartbeat was still thumping in his chest when he reached out for Roland. Pulling him back down beside himself, he held him close. "You're unbelievable, Ro."

"Felt okay?"

"Closest thing to heaven."

Roland turned into Curt and buried his face in the side of his neck. "You touching me was amazing."

Clinging to each other in the darkness, they wanted to stay like that forever, but the impatient couple banging on the door and complaining that it was their turn now kind of ruined that plan.

. . . . .

Carlos randomly caught sight of his brother and his boyfriend mingling in the backyard near the keg with beers in their hands. They were talking to his friend Tania, who played the piano at almost concert level. He laughed to himself when they exchanged phone numbers with her. He should have seen that one coming.

About three hours later, it was close to midnight when he actually went looking for them because their ride was leaving. He found Roland in Curt's arms while they slow-danced to a sappy power ballad, surrounded by a few other indivisible couples also hopelessly in love. He sidled up to them and got their attention. "Jim's gotta go. Meet us at the car after this song."

Jim fished his keys out of his pocket. He looked at Carlos as they started for his car. "Little dudes are really into each other, aren't they?"

Carlos stopped walking. "Yeah. So . . .?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Just stating a fact." Jim held his palms up in front of himself, truce-style. "Just stating a fact, that's all."

Carlos exhaled and shook his head. "That's what I thought." But he'd be on the lookout. The slightest bit of flack out of Jim from that point forward and he was changing chemistry lab partners.

. . . . .

Roland waited for Curt in the park the next day, holding the violin and bow in his hands and absolutely incapable of suppressing the ear-to-ear grin on his face. It was a stellar Saturday afternoon for so many reasons. They were going back to the music store to get Curt's bass guitar, for one. But it was also the day after the most beautiful night they'd ever had together.

He still felt as if he were dreaming every time he thought about being in that bedroom with Curt at the party. Did they really do those things with each other? Yes, they did, and reliving them yet again unleashed another swarm of butterflies in the pit of his stomach. He just wanted to hug his boyfriend and tell him that he loved him.

But Curt was late. Roland checked his watch. They'd planned to meet in the park at one o'clock, and it was already one-fifteen. He decided to head toward Curt's house, thinking he'd run into him along the way, but Roland found himself on Curt's doorstep with still no sign of him. He knocked once and waited a reasonable length of time before he knocked again. Then he rang the bell. Confused and more than a little worried, he started to leave just when the door slowly opened from the inside.

He turned around and let out a shocked cry. "Curt! Oh, my God! You're hurt; what happened?!"

Curt looked at Roland through hollow eyes, tears streaming down his face while he covered his black and purple shiner with one hand and clutched his rib cage with the other. Falling into his boyfriend's arms, he cried on his shoulder.

Roland held him as he wept. Supporting most of his weight while he slumped onto his shoulder, he gently caressed his back and arms. "It's okay. It's okay. I've got you," he repeated over and over, horrified to find him like this yet wanting to be strong.

Curt tried to pull himself together, but the longer he sobbed the more difficult it became. He'd been keeping everything in for months now. All the bottled up rage. The helplessness. The sheer frustration of living in a never-ending hell. Collapsed on Roland, he felt powerless to stop all his emotions from gushing out. He was just grateful his boyfriend was there to catch them. He attempted to wipe at his eyes so they could talk, but his sore ribs limited his range of motion. Sighing, he ended up resting his palm on the small of Roland's back instead.

"Here. Let me." Roland's fingers crept across Curt's face, absorbing as much moisture as they could while steering clear of the sensitive area around his black eye. "Come on. Let's get you back inside, okay?" He started to take charge, only because he had to. He'd never seen Curt hurt and vulnerable before. "That's it. I've got you," he told him every step of the way.

Still holding his rib cage, Curt relied on Roland's help and hobbled over to the couch. Lowering himself to sit was an ordeal. "Thanks, Ro," he managed, his face contorted in pain.

Roland carefully sat beside him. "What happened? You're hurting so bad. Did you fall or something?"

Staring at the floor, Curt's posture drooped and his eyes welled up again. Where or how to even begin escaped him. It'd been his secret for so long. He took a deep breath as a single teardrop trickled down his cheek.

Roland felt like crying himself. He leaned down and kissed Curt's tear away. "It's me, Curt. You can tell me. What happened?"

Curt finally peered into Roland's eyes. He exhaled, defeated and tired. Tired of keeping it to himself. "But you can't tell anybody. No one knows. Promise you won't tell."

"I promise. Of course, I promise." Roland reached for Curt's hand and held it in his. "What is it?"

Curt looked back down at the floor. He hesitated for a long moment and then quietly let Roland into his nightmare. "Gary . . . he drinks. He got drunk this morning and came into my room when I was getting ready to leave, and he-"

"That bastard!" Roland jumped up off the couch, fueled by an instant shot of fury. "He did this to you?! That fucking bastard!"

"Calm down, Ro. Freaking out doesn't do any good. Believe me. I've been there. It's useless." Curt waited for Roland to quit pacing. "I tried to get away from him, but I wasn't fast enough. He punched me in the face and kicked me in the ribs after I fell."

"And your mum just let him do it?"

"He never does it when she's around."

"Wait a minute." Roland's eyes grew wider. "This isn't the first time?" He felt sick when Curt slowly shook his head back and forth. "Oh, my God, Curt. I didn't know . . ."

"He always threatens to kill me if I tell anyone. And I'm sure he would. That's why you have to swear you'll never say anything either. Please, Roland. You're the only one I've ever told."

"I already promised you. I'll never tell." Roland found himself blinking back his own tears. How long had his boyfriend been suffering in silence? In what universe was this remotely fair? He sat back down, wondering aloud. "But I've never seen a mark on you before. You're hiding them?"

"He's left a few cuts and bruises on my back. Once on my arm. I wore long sleeves that day." Curt gingerly felt around his eye socket. "Never anything like this, though. He's drinking more and getting more out of control. I don't know why he comes after me and not my brothers. Don't be mad at me for keeping it from you. I just didn't know what to do. I still don't."

Roland put his arms around Curt, taking them right back when he flinched. "Your ribs! Sorry! I can see why you didn't say anything with that asshole threatening you like that. But tell me from now on, okay? When you hurt, I hurt."

"Like your mum. The way she's treating you hurts me as much as it hurts you." Curt zoned out for a minute, wrapping his mind around their lives. Then he took Roland into his arms. Despite the hurting. "At least we can suffer together. Always be there for each other. We can get through anything together, Ro."

Roland's eyes were closed when Curt kissed him. That swarm of butterflies was loose in his stomach again. Maybe they'd make it to their fifteenth birthdays after all. Together. He rested his forehead on Curt's when the kiss ended. "You've always been stronger than me, Curt. I love you for that."

"I'm not strong, Roland. Wanna know another secret?"

Did he want to know? He nodded anyway.

"I feel broken inside."

. . . . .

Curt took it easy all day Sunday, resting in his room and lying to his mum (under direct orders from her bullying boyfriend) that he'd clumsily walked into a door jamb and nearly knocked himself out. Hence the nasty shiner and sore rib cage. Roland came over to see him in the afternoon, and they talked on the phone that night, limited in both instances to discussing music since Curt's whole family was home and milling about. Neither had ever been happier to see a Monday roll around.

Feeling a little better, Curt stuck to his story of wrestling with a door jamb to teachers and classmates who stared at his discolored eye. As soon as school was out, he and Roland hurried back to his house to pick up the violin and bow from under his bed, where they were stashed when Roland came over the day of _the incident. _Then Curt and Roland took off again, deliriously excited.

"I can't wait to get that bass, Ro! Nothing can go wrong this time!"

Roland squinted out at the traffic in front of the music store. "Unless we get hit by a bus or something. You're going to be a great bass player, Curt. I can feel it."

"The Duckz are gonna kill at their next gig with their new bassist-slash-singer!" Curt laced his fingers between Roland's as they went inside. "I just hope Tania meant it when she said her dad could give me a few lessons." He spotted the owner and walked up to him. "Hi. Remember us?"

The white-haired gentleman glimpsed at the violin and bow in Roland's other hand. "Roland, right? The deal maker!" He laughed at his own joke and then studied Curt's face. "And you . . . 've got a black eye."

Roland couldn't help himself. "My boyfriend was in a fight."

"You should see the other guy. I'm Curt." Grinning, he turned around and scanned the back wall, momentarily crushed because the bass guitar had disappeared. He sighed in relief while the owner bent down and retrieved it from behind the counter.

"Right here. Been saving her for you. I'm Thomas, by the way."

Curt's fingers finally separated from Roland's as their world began to shine a little brighter. He reached for the instrument when Thomas held it up, handling it with respect.

Thomas looked over at Roland again. "Let's check out this violin, shall we?"

Roland prayed it would pass his inspection. He held his breath until Thomas set it aside and nodded. "We've got a deal, then?"

"We've got a deal." Thomas shook Roland's hand. "Pleasure doing business with you." He almost didn't want to disturb Curt, who was in another dimension adoring his baby. "She couldn't belong to a more deserving young man."

"Thank you, Thomas." Curt shook hands with him. "I'll take good care of her. She's beautiful, isn't she, Ro?"

"She is. So Curt's gonna need a shoulder strap with his new bass," Roland told Thomas. "What do you have in stock?" Waiting for him to take a few out of the display case, Roland compared them with each other while Curt looked on. He chose the one with the most padding and attached it to the bass. Then he held it up, helping Curt sling it around his neck as he ducked. Roland winced when Curt did, knowing his midsection was still a little tender. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

Thomas eyed the teenagers, fascinated by their bond and Roland's obvious expertise. He watched him adjust the strap's length until the bass hung at the perfect height in front of Curt. "You play, too?" he asked him.

"Guitar. Been playing since I was nine."

"He's amazing." Curt aimed his killer smile at his boyfriend. "And an incredible songwriter."

Roland smiled back. "Curt sings like an angel. He's gonna be tearing up this bass pretty soon."

Thomas glanced from Curt to Roland and then back to Curt again, unable to contain his own wide smile. "Why don't you lads just kiss already?"


	4. Chapter 4

Curt gawked upward at the stately manor before him, not quite believing his eyes. He elbowed Roland, who was having trouble closing his gaping mouth. "This can't be it, can it?"

"I don't think so. What's the address again?"

Reaching into his pocket, Curt pulled out the note paper Tania had given him and read it aloud. "Three eighty-nine Woodland. This is it. I can't believe she lives here."

Roland took in the sprawling lawn and rose garden along the path to the door. "Damn. Carlos didn't tell me she's rich."

"This is probably a mistake, Ro. Maybe we should just go back home."

Roland grasped Curt's arm. "We're here now. Might as well check it out." He rang the bell and waited with his boyfriend, both of them taken aback when a uniformed housekeeper answered the door a few moments later. He swallowed hard. "Hi. Um, we're not sure if this is the right place, but we're here to see a Mr. Borelli?"

"Ah, you must be Tania's friends. Yes, you've found us. Come in, lads." She closed the door behind them after they entered the spacious foyer. "Maestro Borelli will be right down. He's expecting you."

Curt and Roland stared at each other, their eyes wide as saucers. Maestro?

"Why don't you make yourselves comfortable in his study? Right this way." Ushering them into an elegantly appointed room, the likes of which they'd only read about in sweeping novels, the housekeeper nodded when they thanked her and then made herself scarce.

Still clutching the handle on his bass guitar's case, Curt slowly looked around, mesmerized by the plush blue and ivory decor and the small fire glowing in the stone fireplace. "Oh, my God, Ro. What have I gotten myself into?"

"I don't know, but it's beautiful." Roland couldn't take his eyes off of the mahogany grand piano in the corner. Or the array of string instruments on their stands nearby. Not only a guitar and bass, but also a cello and costly violin. "Tania just said her dad plays bass in a trio. Seems like she left out some vital information." Bending forward with his hands behind his back, Roland was admiring the violin when their host walked into his study.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. You must be Curt." He spoke English with a slight Italian accent, glancing down at the guitar case by Curt's side. Thrusting his hand out and shaking with him, his warm smile matched his comfy-looking cardigan sweater. "I'm Joseph."

"Yes, sir. Uh, Maestro. Sir. And this is Roland." Curt gestured to him. "My, um, boyfriend."

Roland stepped up and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Maestro. Sir. I hope you don't mind if I sit in on the lesson?"

"Of course, Roland. I'm very pleased to meet both of you. Tania told me you want to learn to play bass, Curt. But we need to get something out of the way first."

Curt's face fell. Hadn't he told Roland not ten minutes earlier this was probably a mistake? He squared his shoulders, bracing for bad news.

"No calling me sir. Or Maestro. Or even Mr. Borelli. I'm Joseph to you boys, okay?" He chuckled when Curt and Roland breathed a visible sigh of relief. "I may have conducted Milan's symphony orchestra in my native country many moons ago, but playing bass in a group at small venues here in Bath makes me much happier. I'll be glad to teach you, Curt, but only if we dispense with all the formalities." Raising his eyebrows, Joseph peered at his new acquaintances. "Agreed?"

Their faces broke into huge grins. "Agreed!"

"All right, then. Let's sit down and relax." Joseph led them to the sofa in front of the fireplace. He grabbed his bass off its stand and settled into an adjacent chair while Curt opened his case and reached for his own bass. "Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourselves?"

Roland thought back. Way back. "Well, I've been playing guitar and writing songs since I was a wee lad. I met Curt last year and asked him to join my band as lead singer when I heard how great his voice was."

Curt smiled. "And our bass player recently moved to London, so the logical solution is for me to replace him."

"Smart move." Joseph liked the ambitious pair already. "The bass is a fun instrument. You'll love it once you really get into it. Let's start with the proper finger placement and get you playing some basic chords. Do you read music?"

"I do. Roland taught me when I was learning my first song to sing with the band."

Roland nodded. "That's when I found out he has perfect pitch. I'm envious."

"Me, too!" Joseph laughed. "So your bass is going to sound one octave lower than the written note . . ."

It was Curt's lesson, but Roland paid rapt attention as well, mentally mastering the chords, practice scales, and simple bass lines while Curt's fingers played them. He couldn't believe two entire hours had elapsed when the session was winding down.

Seemingly on cue, the housekeeper reappeared, carrying a large tea tray. "Will your guests be joining you, Maestro Borelli?" she asked, setting it on a side table.

Joseph shrugged at Curt and Roland, turning his palms outward. "Catherine is the one person I can't convince to drop the formalities! Yes, please stay for tea, boys." He walked over to his string instruments while Catherine poured three cups. "There's one more thing we need to take care of before you leave."

Curt caught the twinkle in Joseph's eye. "So you noticed Ro salivating every time he dared to look in its direction, then?" he teased, tucking his bass back into its case.

"Hard to miss." Joseph leaned his bass on its stand, exchanging it for the violin. Then he brought the rare Amati over to Roland. "Nice to see someone else appreciating this work of art. Go ahead. Have a closer look."

Roland blinked hard. He'd been _that_ obvious? Slightly blushing, his dream becoming a reality helped erase his chagrin. He looked up at Joseph and carefully took the prized gem into his hands. "Gorgeous. Simply gorgeous," he uttered several times, examining its fine craftsmanship in detail. His voice trailed off as he reverently placed the violin under his chin and closed his eyes.

Joseph was offering him a bow when he opened them. "I didn't know you played. Please."

"May I?" Roland was stunned. This was definitely not part of his dream! "I'm honored, Joseph. Thank you." Hesitating for a moment, he heard one of his new songs in his head, soon reproducing its haunting melody on the strings while Curt and Joseph sipped their tea. Afterward, he slowly lowered the instrument, climbing his way back down to earth.

"You're quite good, Roland." Joseph set his teacup on the tray. Knowing both of the violin instructors in Bath, he wondered which one had the pleasure of mentoring this talented young man. "Whom do you study with?"

"I'm afraid I haven't had any formal training." Roland handed the violin back to Joseph and picked up his tea. "I had access to a student violin for a few days, and I tinkered around with it until I could play some things. Nothing very advanced."

"You taught yourself to play the violin in a few days?" Joseph's eyebrows zigzagged into his forehead as he put his treasured Amati back on its stand. "I've never heard of such a thing!"

Roland grinned. "I just wanted to see if I could do it."

Joseph was still shaking his head in disbelief when Catherine came back in and said there was a phone call waiting for him in the kitchen. Excusing himself, he left Curt and Roland to finish their tea.

Roland slid close to Curt on the sofa and nuzzled the side of his face. "Your bass lesson turned out great, didn't it? You were playing pretty easily."

Curt dipped his head onto Roland's shoulder. "Joseph's a good teacher. I'm going to practice every day and learn all of our songs."

"You're gonna be a better bass player than Rick ever was. I'm kinda glad he had to move away."

"Roland!" Curt popped up in mock horror and playfully socked his arm. "I can't believe you said that!"

Roland grabbed Curt's fist before it collided with his arm again, laughing as they jostled back and forth. "Why? It's true." Pulling him forward by the hand, he tasted his lips before the real kissing started. He wasn't sure how long he'd been lost in Curt's mouth by the time Joseph returned, but he separated from him faster than he ever had before and went back to his tea.

"Sorry, Joseph." Curt wasn't embarrassed. He just didn't want to seem disrespectful. "I guess that was a little inappropriate."

"Nonsense, Curt. There's nothing wrong in showing affection for one another. You were honest with me about being in a relationship with Roland when you introduced him as your boyfriend. I think you two are very brave."

Curt and Roland looked at each other. They'd never thought of themselves as particularly brave before.

Joseph sat back down in his chair, facing them. "It takes courage to live your truth and not hide it, as so many feel they need to do. I mean, it's 1975. It's time for society to be more accepting of diverse lifestyles. Maybe you boys will be able to open a few closed minds in this world with your honesty."

Curt smiled, reaching for Roland's hand.

Roland studied his shoes as Joseph's words sank into his heart. Slowly lifting his head, he only wanted to know one thing. "Joseph?"

"What is it, Roland?"

"Can you adopt us?"

. . . . .

Curt and Roland left Joseph's home hand in hand, buoyed by the amazing Sunday afternoon they'd spent with him. Barely making it to the corner, Roland turned to Curt and pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. He grinned at him afterward.

"It's still early. Let's go to the movies, Curt!"

"The movies? What do you want to see?"

Roland shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"You want to see a movie, but you don't care which one?" Curt snaked his arms around his boyfriend and whispered in his ear. "I think I know where you're going with this, Ro, and I like it!"

"I'm sure you do." Roland laughed, batting his eyelashes at Curt. "I don't really want to see a movie. I just want to get you alone in the dark!"

Aggressive Roland in a dark theater. Curt could think of worse situations to be in. His face came alive as he took Roland's hand and started toward the cinema.  
"What are we waiting for?!"

. . . . .

Joseph listened while Tania's fingers flew over the piano, zipping through two-octave scales in each progressive key. Laying the evening newspaper aside, he rose from his chair in the library and walked across the hall to his study. "Lovely, my dear. Just lovely."

Tania looked up from the grand piano in the corner as her father approached. "You know I'm only warming up, Papa. I need to work on the Chopin tonight."

"An exquisite piece." Joseph slid down onto the bench beside her and smiled. "I've always loved that waltz."

She stopped mid D-flat Major scale and turned her head. "Okay, you haven't sat with me while I practiced since I was ten. What's up?"

"I met your friends today. Curt and Roland. I was quite impressed with both of them."

Tania laughed. "Yeah, they're pretty cool. How did Curt do on bass?"

"Very well. He's got a natural feel for it, so he picked up fast. He couldn't help vocalizing to a couple of the bass lines, and he has a beautiful voice, too. Tania, remember that night you went to the party? When you got home, you told me he and Roland had asked you to play keyboard in their band."

"Oh, I told them I couldn't, Papa." She shook her head back and forth. "It would take too much time away from my practicing, and I-"

"I think you should do it."

Tania stared at her father. What was he thinking? He'd always been the biggest supporter of her goal to become a concert pianist. Knowing how much of herself she'd already invested toward that end, he was encouraging her to practice less?

Joseph adjusted his glasses and smiled at her again. "I'd never advise you to get involved with an amateur bunch of kids, but Curt and Roland are different. They're both extraordinarily gifted young men. I'm sure any band they front is top-notch. And it would be an opportunity for you to have some fun with your music."

"Really?"

Joseph nodded and stood up to leave her with their cherished Chopin. "You should tell them you'll do it."


	5. Chapter 5

Roland tucked his music theory textbook into his backpack as soon as the bell rang and looked over at Curt two seats away, both of them praying their teacher would grant the request Roland was about to make. Curt held his boyfriend's eyes with his own, transmitting a quick dose of moral support. Still, he inhaled an anxiety-ridden breath as Roland made his way up to Mr. Conner's desk. It was a long shot, and they knew it.

"Mr. Conner, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure, Roland. What's on your mind?" Mr. Conner always had time for his star pupil. "Are the Duckz looking forward to their gig at the Spring Hop next month?"

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." Roland glanced around the music room and then eyed his teacher again. "I was wondering if we could use this space to rehearse after school more than once a week. We need to get a lot tighter before before the dance."

Mr. Conner frowned. "I'm afraid that's not possible. I have your band slotted in on Wednesdays, and the other four days are reserved for special interest clubs." He shuffled some papers around on his desk, trying to look busy. "Sorry about that. I'm sure you'll be fine, though. You and Curt always sound terrific when I overhear you before class."

"Yeah, but our drummer needs a ton of work. You know Danny from third period? I wish I could replace him, but no one else in this school even remotely knows his way around a drum kit." Roland wasn't above begging. He gave his teacher the puppy dog eyes as Curt left his desk and walked up to join them.

"I'd like to help you guys out, but my hands are tied." Mr. Conner looked at Curt. "How are your bass lessons coming along?"

"Great. I go every Sunday, and I've got all our songs down pat. Not to seem arrogant, Mr. Conner, but Roland and I sound good because we practice together all the time. It's Danny we're worried about. The only kit he has to practice on is in here, and once a week just isn't enough."

Roland tried again. "We also added a keyboard player. She's an unbelievable pianist and complements Curt and me perfectly. But the four of us need time together. Can't you give us a few more days a week? Please?"

"Sorry, guys. I can't." Mr. Conner opened a book on his desk when his next students started to trickle in. "Oh, before I forget, Roland, I have to leave your class a few minutes early tomorrow. I need you to fill in for me, alright? You can just go over key signatures and sharps and flats. That should keep everyone busy until the bell rings, okay?"

"Sure, Mr. Conner. Sharps and flats." Roland turned to Curt, the very last bit of wind blown out of his sails. "We need a Plan B. And fast."

Was that a twinge of guilt tugging at Nigel Conner's conscience as he watched Curt and Roland hightail it out of his music room? He wanted to boot one of the clubs off the schedule and give the hour to the Duckz, but he showed far too much favoritism toward Roland as it was. And who could blame him? He'd never crossed paths with a more talented student in all the years he'd been teaching music theory. Shame he hadn't taught him a bloody thing all semester because the kid knew more about the subject than he did!

. . . . .

Curt practically sprinted through the corridor, trying to keep up with Roland. "Well, that went nowhere, didn't it?"

"He's such a dick! He won't even to help us!"

"If we can just find another drum kit somewhere and get Danny on it as much as poss-"

"And he wants me to take over his fucking class tomorrow?!" Roland picked up his already-frenetic pace, adrenaline coursing though his veins. "He wants a favor from me, but he won't do a favor for us? I only took that fucking class for the easy A! I should have taken something I could actually learn!"

"Well, I think he-"

"How about if I don't show up tomorrow? What if I'm absent?! What's the motherfucker gonna do then?!"

Curt shrugged one shoulder. "I . . . I could go over key signatures and sharps and flats." He tried his killer smile on him, but Roland wasn't having it. "Come on, Ro. We'll figure it out. Don't we always figure stuff out?"

Roland finally stopped racing through the hall. He turned to Curt and looked him in the eye. "How are we gonna figure this out, Curt? It's a fucking disaster! Don't you get it?! We're fucked!"

Curt's jaw rested on the floor when Roland pivoted on his heels and stormed off to his next class. Stranded there in disbelief, he shook his head while his boyfriend evaporated into the crowd. It wasn't like he was expecting a blow-job or anything. But 'I'll see you later' would have been nice.

. . . . .

Paying zero attention in his next two classes, Curt thought of nothing but their current crisis and how to resolve it. By lunchtime, he was convinced the Duckz were going to crash and burn at the Spring Hop unless the one scenario that kept popping into his head would work. Bypassing his own cafeteria, he headed for the upperclassmen's dining room, searching for Tania.

He found her sitting with Carlos, sharing a sandwich. Surprised to see him where he didn't belong, they smiled and told him to pull up a chair.

Tania looked around. "Where's Roland?"

"I don't know."

She exchanged glances with Carlos, who was choking on his drink.

"Okay, what's wrong?" he asked Curt.

Curt shook his head, unable to keep a long-winded sigh from escaping. "He's melting down 'cause we can't use the music room more than once a week to rehearse. It's the only place we can get Danny on drums, and everybody knows he needs some serious practice time."

"That's for sure. I think all of us were banking on more time in the music room this last month. What are we gonna do?"

I've been trying to figure something out all morning, and there's only one solution I keep hitting on. Do you think your dad would let us use his study every day after school? I know that's asking a lot, but I just can't come up with anything else."

"That's not a bad idea, Curt." Tania's face lit up. "Especially now that he's storing his trio's drum kit in there while they're on hiatus. He's going back to Milan for a few weeks to see my grandma, but he shouldn't have a problem with us using his study."

Curt smiled, thankful to have her on board. "When can you ask him?"

"How about right now?" Tania took some coins out of her purse. Then she headed over to use the pay phone in the dining room while Curt and Carlos held their breath.

. . . . .

Roland felt awful. Why on earth had he unleashed his wrath at Mr. Conner on Curt? He knew it was uncalled for, but that's what happened and he couldn't undo it no matter how embarrassed and regretful he was. Not being able to find him at lunch was bad enough, but now Curt wasn't at his locker after school. Roland hung his head as he started to walk home. He had to make things right. If Curt was finished avoiding him.

Holding onto the tiniest shred of hope that he'd find his boyfriend in the park, Roland's emotions ran the gamut when he spotted him leaning up against the same tree they'd hidden behind the very first time they kissed. He dropped his backpack and ran into his open arms. "I'm so sorry, baby!" he repeated over and over, nearly crying while he squeezed him to death. "I don't know why I took everything out on you! God, I'm so sorry!"

"Shh. It's okay. It's okay." Curt hugged him harder than he ever had before. "I know you were pissed. I was, too. Just hold me."

Roland wrapped himself around Curt. "Don't ever let me go. I'll never do that again. I promise."

"Shit's gonna happen, Ro. Who knows? Maybe I'll be the one who loses it next time. As long as we love each other, we'll be fine." Curt kissed the sensitive place on the side of Roland's neck. "You do love me, right?"

Roland shivered. "I've loved you since day one when I heard you singing Last Days of May in your bedroom."

"I knew it! You only love me 'cause I can sing."

"Hardly." Roland laughed. "But none of this music stuff matters now. It's not like the Duckz have any kind of a future. That's okay, though. Our relationship is way more important than some stupid band at school."

Curt started to slide downward, pulling Roland with him until they were sitting at the base of the tree. "Our relationship will always be more important than any band we're in, Ro. But this one's not over yet. Guess where I was at lunch today."

"Avoiding me. You had every right."

"I wasn't avoiding you, baby. I went to talk to Tania. I think she and Carlos have a thing for each other. Anyway, I had this idea and she liked it. The Duckz now have a new rehearsal space every day after school in Joseph's study. He gave us permission to use it, and we can start tomorrow."

Curt wasn't surprised in the least by Roland's high pitched scream and full-on attack. Landing beneath him in the grass, he hung on for dear life while his boyfriend mauled him and kissed every inch of his face. He smiled up at him when Roland came up for air. "Where's the dark movie theater when we need it, huh?"

Roland laid his head on Curt's shoulder. "Kinda too late for me. Sorry."

Curt tightened his arms around Roland's body. "Why do you think I was waiting for you by our tree?"

"Um, because you knew I'd look for you here, and you knew this was gonna happen?"

"You could say that." Curt grinned as they climbed to their feet and hoisted their backpacks over their shoulders. "I just knew you'd wanna thank me properly, and you couldn't do it at school!"

. . . . .

Joseph stepped into his foyer late at night and set his suitcases down. Weary from traveling, he removed his hat and coat to the strains of a haunting melody pouring out of his study. It wasn't one of Tania's regular pieces, yet he was sure he'd heard it before. He just couldn't place where or when. He rubbed his temples and shuffled in to greet her.

"Papa! How was your trip?!"

"Just fine, my dear. Grandma sends her love." He bent forward to kiss her cheek. "Don't stop. Please. That's rather . . . lovely. What is it?"

"It's one of the numbers we're doing tomorrow at the Spring Hop." Tania continued to play her favorite song, smiling up at her father on the closing bar. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

"It is. Who's the composer?"

"Roland, Papa. He wrote it."

"Roland wrote this? Ah . . ." The light bulb clicked on in Joseph's brain. Picturing his Amati in Roland's hands, the same melancholy notes echoed in his ears. He looked down and read the title on Tania's sheet music. "The Hurting?"

"Uh-huh. It's brilliant. Wait till you hear all of us together and Roland and Curt singing the lyrics. You won't believe it. You are coming to hear us, aren't you?"

"Of course, I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it." Joseph read similar titles as Tania rustled through her other pages of sheet music. Broken? Pale Shelter? Suffer the Children? Sensing a theme, he eyed his daughter with a furrowed brow. "Roland wrote these, too?"

"Yes, Papa. He's a genius."

. . . . .

Joseph didn't disagree. Standing at the back of the school's gymnasium with a handful of adults, he listened to the Duckz play numerous Top Forty covers for their peers at the Spring Hop. Awed by both Curt's and Roland's voices, and the unique blend they produced together, he wasn't sure which aspect of the band's performance impressed him most.

Was it the excellent musicianship? He'd always been proud of Tania's gift, and he knew Roland and Curt rivaled her from the day he met them. Was it the polished delivery? For four teenagers, the group sounded more professional than some professional acts he'd had the misfortune of hearing. But then Roland announced they'd be doing a few of their own creations, and that's when Joseph became truly taken in. Transfixed, he absorbed every brooding lyric in the boy's masterpieces.

_. . . is it an horrific dream . . . feel the pain . . . feel the sorrow . . . broken . . . we are broken . . . you don't give me love . . . you give me pale shelter . . . you give me cold hands . . . it's a sad affair . . . when there's no one there . . . he calls put on the night . . ._

Definitely a theme. And a tragic one. Stemming from personal trauma?

Joseph had to find out.

. . . . .

Gary waited until his old lady and two of her brats had left for church services before he climbed the stairs that Sunday morning. Sneaking into the boys' room, he locked the door behind himself and took the last swig of whiskey while Curt slept. He peered down at his beautiful face, his own full of scorn. Then he hurled the empty bottle at the mirror. "Wake up, you faggot!" he screamed as it shattered to bits.

Curt bolted into a sitting position, his heart pounding in his chest. "Jesus! What the hell are you-"

"Shut up, Curt! I'm doing the talking!" Gary paced over to the window, scoping things out. He didn't need any witnesses. "I always thought there was something about you I didn't like, and now I know what it is. You're a goddamned faggot, aren't you?!"

Trembling, Curt pulled his blanket to his chin, his eyes wide with fear.

"I finally figured it out last night, watching your band. Yes, I was there. You're always following that little girly kid around. Roland this, and Roland that! You act all butch so no one's onto you, but he's as queer as they come. And that can only mean one thing. You must be a fucking queer, too." Gary leaned down, inches away from Curt, his foul breath hovering in the air. "And you know what, princess? I can't stand queers!"


	6. Chapter 6

Mrs. O glared around the backyard when she and Julian arrived home from church. She allowed her two eldest boys to miss services because they'd promised the night before to clean out the shed, but a quick check on their progress revealed only one of them making good on his word. "Where's your brother, Carlos? He's supposed to be helping you."

Carlos wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I know, Mum, but he's still sleeping. He's exhausted from playing his gig last night." Which you didn't even bother to attend, his mind kept going. You could have made an appearance in the name of parental support, but no -

"I don't care how tired he is," she cut off his mental berating of her. "He needs to do his share. I'll get him out here, and then Julian and I are going to the store."

Shaking his head, Carlos wondered how his mum could have grown so cold toward Roland after she found out he and Curt loved each other. It wasn't fair, but it was now his life. No wonder his brilliant songs reflected such feelings of hurt and rejection. Carlos looked up and shrugged at a bleary-eyed Roland as he made his way toward him. "Sorry, bro. I let you sleep as long as I could."

"Thanks, Carl." Roland peeked into the shed and saw that Carlos had already done most of the work. "I owe you."

"Just help me move this old table. Hey, you guys really killed last night. Everyone loved the Duckz."

Roland smirked, starting to wake up a little more. "Even fucking Danny got it together. We did sound pretty good, didn't we?" He lifted one side of the table opposite Carlos and walked backward. "Recruiting Tania to play with us was the smartest thing we ever did. She gives us class, you know?"

"Yeah, she's definitely classy." Carlos sat on the table after they'd scooted it flush against the corner of the shed and stared at his hands. "Too classy for me."

"Aha!" Roland grinned, plopping down next to him. "Curt was right! You do have a thing for each other!"

"I wouldn't call it a thing. Yet. You spend more time with her than I do, Ro. I should start showing up at your rehearsals." Carlos smiled, too, not entirely joking. "I was thinking about asking her out to see a movie tonight. How about you and Curt coming with us?"

Roland eyed his brother sideways. "So basically, you need us as buffers."

"Pretty much." Laughing out loud with Roland, Carlos jumped off the table and glanced at his watch. "I think we're done in here. Let's cover this junk with the tarp and go call them."

. . . . .

Carlos stood in the kitchen and dialed Tania's number, tapping his fingers on the counter until she answered. Taking a deep breath, he felt awkward at first but loosened up when she said she'd love to go out with him. He ended the call soon after and gave Roland a thumbs-up. "Your turn."

"That was fast. You're not nervous, are you?" Roland teased, ringing his boyfriend. Convincing him they were actually going to _watch_ a movie this time would be funny.

Carlos went into the living room and flipped on the TV. Roland would be talking to Curt for a half an hour at least. Anything less than that and he'd be feeling his forehead to see if he had a fever. He scowled with concern a moment later, though, hearing Roland's frantic questions become louder and louder.

"What are you saying, Brett?! What happened?!" Roland squinted out the kitchen window, trying to understand. "Where's Curt?!" he yelled into the phone. "Where is he?!" Getting nothing but sobs in return, his anxiety snowballed out of control. "Stay there! I'm coming over!"

"What's going on?" Carlos tailed Roland as he flew down the hall to their bedroom. "Is Curt okay?"

"I have no idea. His little brother's a crying mess." Roland tore off his sweats and shinnied into a pair of jeans. "I need to get over there right now!"

. . . . .

Roland's heart raced in his chest. Out of breath from the nonstop run to Curt's place, he leaned on the bell and pleaded with the gods to cut them a break. 'Just let him be alright' swirled round his head like a mantra. 'Please, just let him be safe.'

He knew his prayers were pointless as soon as Brett opened the door. One look at his ashen, tear-streaked face confirmed Roland's worst fears. "Are you here by yourself?" he asked him, going inside when Curt's brother nodded up and down. "Tell me everything."

Brett wiped his eyes with his hands. "It was so scary, Roland. I went upstairs when we got home from church and found Curt in his bed. There was blood everywhere, and . . . and he wasn't moving. I screamed for my mum, and then she called the ambulance when she saw him. They came to take him to the hospital, but he still wouldn't wake up."

"Oh, my God." Genuine panic flooded through Roland. Looking for the fastest way to his boyfriend, he remembered Curt's older brother getting his driver's license. "Where's Shaun?"

"I don't know. He went somewhere right from church. He didn't come home with us."

"Fuck! Sorry, Brett. I was just hoping he could take us to the hospital. I'm gonna catch the bus over there and find out how Curt is. I guess you better stay put."

"Yeah, there was only enough room in the ambulance for my mum." Brett sniffled and ran his hand over his eyes again. "She told me to stay here."

Roland reached out and gave him a reassuring hug. "That's what you should do, then."

. . . . .

There was no one to reassure Roland. An eerie sense of dread accompanied him while he gazed through the bus window, unable to shake his vision of a bloodied Curt lying unconscious in his bed. The very same bed Roland had left his sock in a few days before. The corners of his mouth curved upward as he pictured himself and his boyfriend startled and scrambling to get dressed when Curt's mum came home from work early. Lost somewhere between the sheets, his sock was the least of their worries.

Moisture coated Roland's eyelashes. Would he ever feel Curt's glorious naked body against his again? Dabbing his eyes with his sleeve, he stepped off the bus and walked into the hospital's lobby.

"Curt Smith? Let's see . . ." The receptionist scanned through an admittance record on her desk and made some calls, informing Roland that his friend was being treated in the emergency unit. "Down that hallway. You'll run right into the waiting room."

It was Curt's mother whom Roland ran into. She was standing in the waiting room, talking with two uniformed police officers. Quietly slipping into a nearby chair, he lowered his head and listened.

"We were contacted by hospital authorities, Mrs. Smith. It seems your son has several defensive wounds on his hands and arms in addition to his other injuries, indicating a physical assault. Do you know anything about that?"

"Physical assault?! Certainly not! Curt's always walking into doors and things. He hurts himself. Accidentally, of course."

The cops exchanged glances. "These wounds aren't self-inflicted. Your son has been severely beaten by someone. Did you find any signs of a break-in?"

Curt's mum stalled as long as she could, trying to appear thoughtful. "No. But we'd just arrived home from church when my younger son found his brother. I wasn't looking for anything amiss."

"How many people reside in your home? We need a list of names."

Jesus! She had to get her story straight. "Do we have to do this _now? _My son is hurt. I want to see him."

"Your son is in critical condition, ma'am," Officer Charles shot back as his partner excused himself to take a radio call. "His doctors have ordered no visitors while they set his broken wrist and assess the extent of his internal damage. Unfortunately, that includes you. So who else lives in your house?"

Defeated, she reeled off her other sons' names. Roland wanted to leap out of his seat and tattle that she'd omitted her boyfriend, but apparently the Bath Police Department was pretty good at its job.

"And who is Gary Reese?" Officer Dillon inquired, rejoining the conversation. "Brett has reported that he resides there as well."

"Brett?! What does he have to do with this? He's just a young child!"

"He gave his age as twelve to the detectives investigating the crime scene. He was very cooperative."

"Crime scene?!" she shouted.

"The bedroom in your home where the assault occurred. It's being dusted for fingerprints as we speak. We'll be in touch."

Curt's mum cursed to herself. This was becoming a horrid mess. Finally getting the cops out of her face, she turned around and nearly bumped into Curt's attending physician. He was rushing toward her with a stack of papers in his hand.

"Mrs. Smith? We're prepping Curt for emergency surgery to stop the bleeding in his abdominal cavity. X-rays show a ruptured spleen, most likely the result of blunt force trauma. I need you to sign these consent forms."

"Ruptured spleen?" She took the pen Dr. Harris offered her and started to sign each one. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I can't answer that yet. Not until we stop the bleeding and look for damage to his other organs. I'll have someone let you know when he's out of surgery." He collected the forms from her and quickly disappeared.

Her mind was whirling. Curt was critical. And police detectives had undoubtedly discovered Gary's smashed whiskey bottle on the bedroom floor by now. How were they going to explain _that?_ She'd been so stupid not to clean it up before the ambulance arrived. Then she left Brett home alone. Another colossal mistake. The way she saw it, Shaun was their only hope. How hard could it be to pin the broken bottle of booze on him? Didn't most seventeen-year-olds experiment with alcohol, among other substances? Scheming away, she knew he needed to be in on it. But where the hell was he?

Curt's mum gathered her bag from the chair where she'd dropped it and turned to leave. Focused solely on finding her oldest son, she hurried past a silently weeping Roland without noticing him.

. . . . .

Roland felt numb. Scared and alone, he'd been sitting on that hard-backed chair for what seemed like an eternity, a new river of tears falling from his eyes every time he replayed Curt's doctor's words in his head. Longing to wake from his nightmare, he finally swallowed the lump in his throat and jumped up when a young, kindhearted nurse came into the waiting room summoning Mrs. Smith.

She looked at the teenager who walked up to her instead.

His voice was shaky. "Um, Mrs. Smith left about three hours ago. Is Curt out of surgery yet?"

"Are you related to him?"

"No, but I'm the only one he has here with him. I'm his boyfri- uh, best friend. Can you tell me how he's doing?"

Hesitating, she weighed the pros and cons of going against hospital policy. Then she considered the lad's swollen, bloodshot eyes, seeing no harm in easing his pain. "I'm only supposed to give information to family members. But you're . . . Curt's boyfriend?"

Roland hesitated, too, one shoulder shyly raising with a mind of its own. "Uh-huh."

"Well, you're almost family, then, aren't you?" She smiled at him. "Curt's surgery went very well. His doctors had to remove his spleen to stop the bleeding, but they found no other internal damage. He's in post-op now, coming out of the anesthetic."

Roland's relief was visible. "Oh, my God! That's great news! Can I see him?"

"We do allow patients to have one visitor in the recovery area. If you wait until he's moved there, we can let you in to see him."

"Of course, I'll wait!" Roland beamed at the angel before him.

"Okay, I'm Ellen. I'll come out and get you when he's in recovery. What's your name? So I'm not paging Mrs. Smith!"

Laughing along with her, he almost hugged his personal savior. "Thank you so much, Ellen! I'm Roland."

"Roland?" She thought for a minute and then pronounced his name slowly. "RO-land . . . Ah, it makes sense now."

"What?"

"Curt's been saying something, but we don't know what it means. I guess he's calling for you. He keeps murmuring 'Ro' over and over again."


End file.
